Friedrich Schiller

“ Not thine the breast That deaf to nature's voice, ne'er owned the throbs Of kindred love:—nay more—like one entranced In bliss, thou look'st around, and smiles of rapture Play on thy cheek. DON MANUEL. How shall my lips declare The transports of my swelling heart? My brother Revels in glad surprise, and from his breast Instinct with strange new-felt emotions, pours The tide of joy; but mine—no hate came with me, Forgot the very spring of mutual strife! High o'er this earthly sphere, on rapture's wings, My spirit floats ”

“ Live! live! my son! For I may rather bear to look on thee— The murderer of one child—than weep for both! DON CAESAR. Heedless and vain, my mother, are thy prayers For me and for thyself; I have no place Among the living: if thine eyes may brook The murderer's sight abhorred—I could not bear The mute reproach of thy eternal sorrow. ISABELLA. Silent or loud, my son, reproach shall never Disturb thy breast—ne'er in these halls shall sound The voice of wailing, gently on my tears My griefs shall flow away: the sport alike Of pitiless fate together we will mourn, And veil the deed of blood. ”

“ My heart has found Its lasting shrine: ere this day's sun has set Don Manuel to thy feet shall lead his bride, The partner of his days. ISABELLA. And to my breast With transport will I clasp the chosen maid That makes my first-born happy. Joy shall spring Where'er she treads, and every flower that blooms Around the path of life smile in her presence! May bliss reward the son, that for my brows Has twined the choicest wreath a mother wears. DON CAESAR. Yet give not all the fulness of thy blessing To him, thy eldest born. If love be blest, I, too, can give thee joy. ”

“ Chorus (BOHEMUND) . The tidings on thy heart dismayed Have burst, and naught remains; behold! 'Tis come, nor long delayed, Whate'er the warning seers foretold: They spoke the message from on high, Their lips proclaimed resistless destiny! The mortal shall the curse fulfil Who seeks to turn predestined ill. ISABELLA. The gods have done their worst; if they be true Or false, 'tis one—for nothing they can add To this—the measure of their rage is full. Why should I tremble that have naught to fear? My darling son lies murdered, and the living I call my son no more. ”

“ DON MANUEL. Ever on the wing Is mortal joy;—with silence best we guard The fickle good;—but now, so near the goal Of all my cherished hopes, I dare to speak. To-morrow's sun shall see her mine! no power Of hell can make us twain! With timid stealth No longer will I creep at dusky eve, To taste the golden fruits of Cupid's tree, And snatch a fearful, fleeting bliss: to-day With bright to-morrow shall be one! So smooth As runs the limpid brook, or silvery sand That marks the flight of time, our lives shall flow In continuity of joy! ”

“ Turning to the CHORUS. Attend! Forever Stilled is our strife; he is my deadliest foe, Detested as the gates of hell, who dares To blow the fires of discord; none may hope To win my love, that with malicious tales Encroach upon a brother's ear, and point With busy zeal of false, officious friendship. The dart of some rash, angry word, escaped From passion's heat; it wounds not from the lips, But, swallowed by suspicion's greedy ear, Like a rank, poisonous weed, embittered creeps, And hangs about her with a thousand shoots, Perplexing nature's ties. ”

“ DIEGO. Rejoice, my mistress; for thy gentle sense And soft, prevailing art more weal have wrought Than all thy husband's power. Be praise to thee And thy auspicious star! ISABELLA. Yes, fortune smiled; Nor light the task, so long with apt disguise To veil the cherished secret of my heart, And cheat my ever-jealous lord: more hard To stifle mighty nature's pleading voice, That, like a prisoned fire, forever strove To rend its confines. DIEGO. All shall yet be well; Fortune, propitious to our hopes, gave pledge Of bliss that time will show. ”

“ So happy to whom heaven has given a brother; The friend by nature signed—the true and steadfast! Nature alone is honest—nature only— When all we trusted strews the wintry shore— On her eternal anchor lies at rest, Nor heeds the tempest's rage. DON MANUEL. My mother! DON CAESAR. Hear me ISABELLA (taking their hands) . Be noble, and forget the fancied wrongs Of boyhood's age: more godlike is forgiveness Than victory, and in your father's grave Should sleep the ancient hate:—Oh, give your days Renewed henceforth to peace and holy love! ”

“ Concord or strife—the fate's decree Is bosomed yet in dark futurity! What comes, we little heed to know, Prepared for aught the hour may show! ISABELLA (looking round) . What mean these arms? this warlike, dread array, That in the palace of your sires portends Some fearful issue? needs a mother's heart Outpoured, this rugged witness of her joys? Say, in these folding arms shall treason hide The deadly snare? Oh, these rude, pitiless men, The ministers of your wrath!—trust not the show Of seeming friendship; treachery in their breasts Lurks to betray, and long-dissembled hate. ”

“ CAJETAN. To stem the tide Of dire misfortune, that with maddening rage Bursts o'er your house, were nobler than to pile Accumulated woe. DON CAESAR. The curse of old Shall die with me! Death self-imposed alone Can break the chain of fate. CAJETAN. Thou owest thyself A sovereign to this orphaned land, by thee Robbed of its other lord! DON CAESAR. The avenging gods Demand their prey—some other deity May guard the living! CAJETAN. Wide as e'er the sun In glory beams, the realm of hope extends; But—oh remember! nothing may we gain From Death! DON CAESAR. Remember thou thy vassal's duty ”

“ And now from this mysterious maid My bosom tells the dreaded ills shall flow: Unblest, I deem, the bridal chain Shall knit their secret loves, accursed With holy cloisters' spoil profane. No crooked paths to virtue lead; Ill fruit has ever sprung from evil seed! BERENGAR. And thus to sad unhallowed rites Of an ill-omened nuptial tie, Too well ye know their father bore A bride of mournful destiny, Torn from his sire, whose awful curse has sped Heaven's vengeance on the impious bed! This fierce, unnatural rage atones A parent's crime—decreed by fate, Their mother's offspring, strife and hate! ”

“ How quickly all a mother's strong resolves Melt into air! 'Twas but the cry of rage That stifled nature's pleading voice; but now What tidings of mysterious import call me From the desolate chambers of my sorrow? Shall I believe it? Is it true? one day Robs me of both my sons? Chorus. Behold! with willing steps and free, Thy son prepares to tread The paths of dark eternity The silent mansions of the dead. My prayers are vain; but thou, with power confessed, Of nature's holiest passion, storm his breast! ”

“ Or 'mid the storm Of passion would ye list a woman's counsels? Could she, sweet pledge of peace, of all our hopes The last and holy anchor, 'mid the rage Of discord find a home? Ye stand as brothers, So will I give a sister to your arms! The reconciling angel comes; each hour I wait my messenger's return; he leads her From her sequestered cell, to glad once more A mother's eyes. DON MANUEL. Nor her alone this day Thy arms shall fold; joy pours through all our gates; Soon shall the desolate halls be full, the seat Of every blooming grace. ”

“ The Chorus steps aside. He approaches and takes her hand. Where hast thou been? for sure some envious power Has hid thee from my gaze: long have I sought thee: E'en from the hour when 'mid the funeral rites Of the dead prince, like some angelic vision, Lit with celestial brightness, on my sight Thou shonest, no other image in my breast Waking or dreaming, lives; nor to thyself Unknown thy potent spells; my glance of fire, My faltering accents, and my hand that lay Trembling in thine, bespoke my ecstasy! ”

“ But not alone This day of joy to each restores a brother; It brings a sister! Wonderstruck you gaze! Yet now the truth, in silence guarded long, Bursts from my soul. Attend! I have a daughter! A sister lives, ordained by heaven to bind ye With ties unknown before. DON CAESAR. We have a sister! What hast thou said, my mother? never told Her being till this hour! DON MANUEL. In childhood's years, Oft of a sister we have heard, untimely Snatched in her cradle by remorseless death; So ran the tale. ISABELLA. She lives! ”

“ Ye marked how sweetly from their childhood's bloom They grew in joyous promise to the years Of manhood's strength; yet in their secret hearts, From some mysterious root accursed, upsprung Unmitigable, deadly hate, that spurned All kindred ties, all youthful, fond affections, Still ripening with their thoughtful age; not mine The sweet accord of family bliss; though each Awoke a mother's rapture; each alike Smiled at my nourishing breast! for me alone Yet lives one mutual thought, of children's love; In these tempestuous souls discovered else By mortal strife and thirst of fierce revenge. ”

“ Chief of women, In bliss supreme; can aught of earthly joy O'erbalance thine? But say, of royal stem, What maidens grace our isle? For ne'er my sons Would stoop to meaner brides. DON MANUEL. Seek not to raise The veil that hides my bliss; another day Shall tell thee all. Enough—Don Manuel's bride Is worthy of thy son and thee. ISABELLA. Thy sire Speaks in thy words; thus to himself retired Forever would he brood o'er counsels dark, And cloak his secret purpose;—your delay Be short, my son. ”

“ BOHEMUND. Too much I grace thee By words! CAJETAN. Thy hot, impetuous youth should bow To reverend age. BOHEMUND. Older thou art—not braver. BEATRICE (rushing from her place of concealment) . Alas! What mean these warlike men? CAJETAN (to BOHEMUND) . I heed not Thy threats and lofty mien. BOHEMUND. I serve a master Better than thine. BEATRICE. Alas! Should he appear! CAJETAN. Thou liest! Don Manuel thousandfold excels. BOHEMUND. In every strife the wreath of victory decks Don Caesar's brows! ”

“ Thus it shall be, My mother—thus with silent, gentle woe Thy grief shall fade: but when one common tomb The murderer and his victim closes round— When o'er our dust one monumental stone Is rolled—the curse shall cease—thy love no more Unequal bless thy sons: the precious tears Thine eyes of beauty weep shall sanctify Alike our memories. Yes! In death are quenched The fires of rage; and hatred owns subdued, The mighty reconciler. Pity bends An angel form above the funeral urn, With weeping, dear embrace. ”

“ The maid that in this ice-cold bosom first Awoke the rapturous flame! Ere yonder sun Declines, Don Caesar's bride shall call thee mother. DON MANUEL. Almighty Love! thou godlike power—for well We call thee sovereign of the breast! Thy sway Controls each warring element, and tunes To soft accord; naught lives but owns thy greatness. Lo! the rude soul that long defied thee melts At thy command! ”

“ Contented nature but obeys Her everlasting law,— The general doom awakes no shuddering awe! But, mortals, oh! prepare For mightier ills; with ruthless hand Fell murder cuts the holy band— The kindred tie: insatiate death, With unrelenting rage, Bears to his bark the flower of blooming age! CAJETAN. When clouds athwart the lowering sky Are driven—when bursts with hollow moan The thunder's peal—our trembling bosoms own The might of awful destiny! Yet oft the lightning's glare Darts sudden through the cloudless air:— Then in thy short delusive day Of bliss, oh! dread the treacherous snare ”

“ One of the Chorus (BERENGAR) . Thus spoke within my bosom's core The thought—as hitherward I strayed; And pensive 'mid the waving store, I mused, of autumn's yellow glade:— These gifts of nature's bounteous reign,— The teeming earth, and golden grain, Yon elms, among whose leaves entwine The tendrils of the clustering vine;— Gay children of our sunny clime,— Region of spring's eternal prime! Each charm should woo to love and joy, No cares the dream of bliss annoy, And pleasure through life's summer day Speed every laughing hour away. We rage in blood,—oh, dire disgrace! ”

“ Ye are a race of other lands; your sires Profaned their soil; and ne'er the invader's yoke Was easy—never in the vassal's heart Languished the hope of sweet revenge;—our sway Not rooted in a people's love, but owns Allegiance from their fears; with secret joy— For conquest's ruthless sword, and thraldom's chains From age to age, they wait the atoning hour Of princes' downfall;—thus their bards awake The patriot strain, and thus from sire to son Rehearsed, the old traditionary tale Beguiles the winter's night. ”

“ Confess the gods—they dwell on high— They circle thee with awful majesty! BEATRICE. Why hast thou saved thy daughter, and defied The curse of heaven, that marked me in thy womb The child of woe? Short-sighted mother!—vain Thy little arts to cheat the doom declared By the all-wise interpreters, that knit The far and near; and, with prophetic ken, See the late harvest spring in times unborn. Oh, thou hast brought destruction on thy race, Withholding from the avenging gods their prey; Threefold, with new embittered rage, they ask The direful penalty ”

“ But precisely as the painter throws around his figures draperies of ample volume, to fill up the space of his picture richly and gracefully, to arrange its several parts in harmonious masses, to give due play to color, which charms and refreshes the eye—and at once to envelop human forms in a spiritual veil, and make them visible—so the tragic poet inlays and entwines his rigidly contracted plot and the strong outlines of his characters with a tissue of lyrical magnificence, in which, as in flowing robes of purple, they move freely and nobly, with a sustained dignity and exalted repose. ”

“ A beauteous boy, Couched listless by the rivulet's glassy tide, 'Mid nature's tranquil scene, He views the lambs that skip with innocent joy, And crop the meadow's flowering pride:— Then with his flute's enchanting sound, He wakes the mountain echoes round, Or slumbers in the sunset's ruddy sheen, Lulled by the murmuring melody. But war for me! my spirit's treasure, Its stern delight, and wilder pleasure: I love the peril and the pain, And revel in the surge of fortune's boisterous main! A second (BERENGAR) . Is there not love, and beauty's smile That lures with soft, resistless wile? ”

“ DON CAESAR (with deep emotion) . 'Tis one to live or die, Blest with a sister's love! BEATRICE. Say, dost thou envy Thy brother's ashes? DON CAESAR. In thy grief he lives A hallowed life!—my doom is death forever! BEATRICE. My brother! DON CAESAR. Sister! are thy tears for me? BEATRICE. Live for our mother! DON CAESAR (dropping her hand, and stepping back) . For our mother? BEATRICE (hiding her head in his breast) . Live For her and for thy sister! Chorus (BOHEMUND) . She has won! Resistless are her prayers. Despairing mother, Awake to hope again—his choice is made! Thy son shall live! ”